


Hiddlesworth Tumblr Fic Dump

by curds_and_wheyface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24162391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/pseuds/curds_and_wheyface
Summary: Collection of the short Hiddlesworth fics that I’d previously only posted on tumblr.1. There Ain't No Telling Who You Might MeetCarwash AU. PG.2. BiologyValentine's Day High School AU. PG.3. Cotton Tail (a.k.a The Bunny and the Bear)Meet-cute at the office party. PG-ish.4. Who You Gonna Call?The brothers of 'HemsCorp Supernatural Service' deal with repeated calls from their client Tom, despite having no proof of actual hauntings. Explicit.5. Happy EndingsChris and Tom aren't boyfriends, they just make out sometimes and stuff. Both 16, frottage, young love. Explicit.6. Going To Be Your LastChris's boyfriend has been out dancing. Explicit.7. BreathlessEscort Chris (30) meets his new client Tom (18). Age difference, obviously. Explicit.8. Highs and LowsTom can't believe he's been set up with skeazebag Chris. Sex, drugs and fried chicken. Explicit.9. LeverageChris is too shy to get it up on camera, so Tom films them in secret. Boyfriends, kitchen sex. Explicit.10. EagerBusinessman Chris takes 17 year old Tom home from the bar he works at. Again. Explicit.
Relationships: Chris Hemsworth/Tom Hiddleston
Comments: 71
Kudos: 128





	1. There's No Telling Who You Might Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every week Tom goes to the car wash where Chris works. PG.

Shhh," Tom huffed, squinting to see out of the soapy window.

Megan laughed, sucking loudly on the straw of her milkshake. "The volume of our talking doesn't affect how well you can see him, you pervert."

Turning to look at her over his shoulder Tom wrinkled his nose, trying to look threatening. She only laughed and reached forward to ruffle his hair. So maybe he'd been here every week since passing his test to get his car cleaned by the hot car wash attendant. That didn't make him a pervert.

The guy was tall and broad shouldered, with dirty-blonde hair and a slightly darker beard that suited his face more than Tom could even put into words - and he had tried to put it into words, while trying to convince Megan and David to come to the car wash with him. They had agreed only on the condition that he buy them Drive-Thru Happy Meals first, the bastards.

The first time he'd come here it had been because he'd parked beneath a tree outside college and had come back to find that a family of birds had used his lovely new (well, second-hand but new to him) car as a toilet. He'd heard that bird muck could ruin the paint and so he'd pulled into the first carwash he saw, listening to the static-y radio until the car in front of him had paid and driven away.

That was when he'd seen him for the first time. His crush. The guy had been wearing a white t-shirt (a poor choice considering his job pretty much ensured he'd get wet) with a horrendous, sleeveless denim thing atop it. His eyelashes had caught in the low sun as he'd leaned down to speak to Tom through the lowered window and, well, that was it. Tom had been back every week since whether or not his car needed a wash. Honestly speaking he'd have been there every day if his money situation allowed for it.

It had been on the third week that one of the man's colleagues had yelled "Chris!" before slapping him around the head with a wet cloth. He seemed only semi-annoyed by it, lifting his arm to wipe his damp face on the sleeve of his shirt before throwing Tom a look through his now-clean windscreen and rolling his eyes. He hadn't been sure if it was weird or not but when Tom had paid up afterwards he'd said "Thanks, Chris," with as much confidence as he could muster.

The next time he returned he'd greeted Chris by name and the man had bent down to the window and cocked his head, smiling pleasantly. "I think it's only fair for you to tell me your name now that you know mine," he'd said, the most words he'd ever uttered to Tom aside from "that'll be six pounds, mate" and "if you drive it forward a bit I'll wash under the wheels".

Tom wanted to know everything about him. What part of Australia he was from, how he liked his coffee, what his favourite food of all time was and would he let Tom attempt to cook it for him? It wasn't an obsession exactly - no matter what Megan said - but it was definitely something that lingered on Tom's mind, and so he'd returned, yet again, with his friends in the back seat nibbling on their Happy Meals and being generally disruptive of Tom's meditation time.

"Wait for it," David said, sing-song voice, as the white, soapy film was washed off the windscreen and Chris became visible once again. He was frowning in concentration as he aimed the hose this way and that to clear the car. Tom sucked in a slow breath, knowing that his favourite part came next. The part where Chris would take a chamois leather and gently rub a film of wax onto the exterior of the car to preserve its shine for longer. He had glorious hands and, perhaps it was just his sex-addled teenage brain working overtime, but Tom had found that watching Chris work them over his car was akin to feeling them on his person.

He tried not to get too excited today as Chris worked, knowing that David and Megan were liable to make a scene if he did something as awful as popped a semi in his loose pants, but none-the-less he watched those hands like a hawk watching it's next meal, envisioning how Chris might use them on a lover.

"I think I'm a bit aroused," Megan whispered, turning her head to the side window where Chris's chest was pressed flush with the glass as he leaned to rub the top of the car. Tom barely refrained from hissing at her like an insulted cat.

David nodded. "I can see his nipples."

"Oh, both of you shut up," Tom scowled. "I don't even know why I brought you."

They spent the next few minutes offering up possible reasons, such as that he wanted to assure his hot carwash man that he did know other human beings, or that it was his plan to form a small cult based on the worship of 'carwash guy's' nipples. Tom staunchly refused to answer, pulling a ten pound note from his wallet as Chris did a quick walk around the car to check he hadn't missed anywhere. Tom appreciated how thorough he was.

He wound the window down and waited for Chris to lean down before holding the ten out between two of his fingers. Chris didn't look at the money right away, instead glancing into the back of the car curiously before looking back to Tom with a small smile that made Tom want to sink down into his seat. He waggled the ten.

"Oh, I'll get your change," Chris said, letting their fingers brush as he took the note.

"No, no," Tom forced out, halting Chris who was all ready to walk away. He cleared his throat. "You keep the change."

"Yeah?" Chris said, looking a little bit confused. "You're sure?"

Maybe he was embarrassed at being tipped, Tom thought, but he wanted Chris to keep it so he nodded. "Yep."

Chris dipped down again to the window and rested his elbows there, looking between Tom and the note a few times before settling his eyes definitively on Tom. "Thanks," he said. "People don't usually tip us. I think because the price of a wash itself is a little steep."

David stuck his head between the front seats. "Yeah, Tom, you should really go somewhere else. That place by the garden centre does it for five pounds."

Without responding Tom lifted a hand to press David firmly back by his face, noting the way Chris's face shifted with amusement at the affronted noise David emitted as he slumped back down next to Megan.

"I think you do a better wash here than the place by the garden centre," Tom shrugged, making an effort to maintain eye-contact with Chris, who didn't look away either.

Chris laughed. "Can't be that good, you keep having to come back a week later."

Once again, David's face popped up, his voice smug as he said, "The man has a point," but Tom was too distracted by his embarrassment to even care. It hadn't occurred to him that his frequent visits could be misconstrued as an insult to Chris's car-washing abilities. He didn't even know what to say to break the sudden silence.

Thankfully Chris did, learning forward a little more to look at David. "Maybe he thinks I need the practise."

"No," Tom gasped, shoving David backwards again. "Of course you don't need practise, you're great. You're really...it's a great wash. Honestly. Every time."

Looking thoughtful, Chris tapped his fingers on the metal frame of Tom's car window and bit his lip, nodding suddenly. "Okay then."

"Okay," Tom repeated, although he didn't know what he was saying it for. He had never before regretted spending time with David, who ordinarily was a godsend and the best friend a slightly-awkward theatre kid could ask for, but today he really wished he'd left his friend at home. Or in the McDonalds car park maybe. Or a ditch.

He was imagining any and all of those scenarios when Chris blinked up at him with a look of intent. Tom looked back, daring himself not to look away, and then Chris smiled and leaned his chin on his hand. "Maybe it'd be easier on your wallet and my dignity if you just asked me out already. This thing where you pay me to press my wet chest against your car every week is honestly starting to make me feel a bit cheap."

Tom choked on his breath, hearing Megan get into similar trouble with the mouthful of milkshake she'd sucked up right before Chris opened his mouth, but Chris only blinked patiently at him and waited.

"Oh," Tom eventually said, looking all around Chris's face for any sign that this was a joke and only finding sincerity there. "Okay."

With a grin Chris held up the ten pound note. "Wait here and I'll get your change," he said pointedly, backing away. "And my number, too."


	2. Biology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by some cute cards I saw on Etsy one time. Chris tries to work out who his valentine is. High school AU. PG.

_'You stole my heart'_ the card says, sepia toned with a little image of a ribcage. Chris laughs, turning it over in his hands to see his name stamped on the back in red ink. He glances around the room, from Katie Abbott who he also has English with to John Parker from the Cross Country team. There are no furtive looks, no muffled laughter. If anybody in the rooms knows anything about it they're hiding it well.

He's flipping the card back over in his hand and chuckling again at the message when Tom, his biology partner, rushes through the door, nearly tripping over the strap of the backpack that hangs off his elbow.

"Oh god," he pants, throwing himself down onto the seat next to Chris. "I thought I was going to be late."

His fluster seems genuine but Chris flashes him a sideways glance anyway, holding out the card between two fingers. "Do you know anything about this?"

Tom takes it, looking first at the stamped, red 'Chris' before flipping it over and guffawing at the message.

"How sweet," he breathes amidst his laughter. "Valentine's day isn't even until the weekend!"

Chris snatches the card back, pocketing it to keep it safe. "Whatever. Did you do your half of the homework or not?"

-

The next day's bio class brings with it another card, this time a picture of a bone above the words ' _I want tibia valentine_ ' and Chris's name again stamped in red. Again, nobody in the room a seems willing to take responsibility for it so Chris pockets it.

Tom arrives just in time and makes no mention of Valentine's, pulling out his workbook and his pens, arranging them in a neat line at his side.

Chris thinks about keeping quiet about it but he's intrigued and it's on his mind. Barely fifteen minutes later he slips it across the desk to Tom. Tom pauses his writing and raises his eyebrows.

"Another one?" He lifts it, huffing out a little laugh at the joke. "This one is better."

"Yeah," Chris smiles. "Tibia. Clever."

Tom runs his fingers over the inked leg bone. "Do you think it means 'I want to be _a_ valentine' or 'I want to be _ya_ valentine'? Because one is vastly more flattering than the other."

Chris takes the card back. "Don't be jealous. I'll tell you exactly what they mean as soon as I work out who it is."

Tom glances briefly at their teacher before leaning in. "Hey, what if it's Miss Graham? Biology teacher seduces handsome student using science puns."

"She does always stare at me," Chris deadpans, then he grins lopsidedly at Tom. "You think I'm handsome?"

Tom doesn't give him the satisfaction of a response.

Miss Graham is talking and Tom flips their shared textbook open to the correct page, using his finger to follow the paragraph she's reading aloud. Chris suspects Tom does this for his benefit and he's not sure whether to feel patronised or grateful. He does have a habit of letting his mind wander.

He leans in close as if he's reading. "Do you think it's weird? Mystery cards?"

Tom rolls his eyes. "Are we still on this topic? No, it's not weird. Most people long for mystery on Valentine's day. All of my cards are from my mum."

"Ouch," Chris cringes, not really sure what else to say since he's always been popular enough to get cards and gifts on Feb 14th. "I'm sure whoever likes you is just shy."

"Yeah," Tom sighs, not sounding entirely convinced.

-

That night Chris agrees to accompany his mum to the supermarket on the agreement that he gets nachos upon their return.

She's hovering around the entrance looking at bargains when Chris slips into the card aisle. It's horrifically red and full of hearts, looking more like an accident in a transplant unit than an expression of love, if you ask Chris, but on a shelf halfway down the aisle there's a card with a picture of a chicken on it which reads ‘ _Nice cock! Be my valentine?_ ’

He takes it with a small smile, thinking Tom will appreciate the humour. He has to use the self-checkout to escape getting odd looks from the staff, and then he ends up waiting for his mum by the car.

-

He doesn't have biology the next day but after morning break when Chris has navigated the crowded hallway he finds a third card has been slipped into his pocket. This time the message on the front reads ' _You give me femur_ '.

When Chris passes Tom at the end of the day he decides not to show it to him because, despite making him laugh, it's a particularly bad pun.

Tom's with his own friends, drama kids and those who volunteer as stage techs to get out of sports, but he lifts his hand in a wave and flashes Chris a smile as they pass.

For some reason it stops Chris in his tracks, like his feet are a dead weight.

"Buddy, you okay?" Somebody asks, slapping Chris between the shoulder blades to move him along, and though he goes he does so with his eyes on Tom, watching until he's no longer in sight.

At home he runs right up to his room to retrieve the card, staring at it.

He's known for a while that he likes Tom, in a sort of peripheral way that he's only really aware of whenever Tom touches his arm or knocks their shoulders together or bosses him around about their homework. He hadn't ever expected that it might be the sort of attraction that took his breath away.

It's Tom for god's sake. Dorky Tom with his pointy elbows and his stupid hair. Tom with his straight nose and his pink mouth and his smile that changes his face. His eyes that light up when he sees Chris, like they're genuinely friends and he's pleased to see him even if it's just a glance in the crowd between classes.

Chris buries his face in his hands.

"Dinner's ready," Liam suddenly says from the door, making Chris jump and drop the card down onto the bed beside him. For a second Liam levels him with a look far too knowing and suspicious for a nine year old, and then he wanders off. Chris puts the card behind his pillow to deal with later.

-

He has the card in his bag the next morning. He's still not sure that he's going to actually give it over, especially considering how embarrassing the message inside it seems now in the light of day, but he put it in his bag anyway. It is Valentine's Day after all.

English finishes early but all of his friends are still in their own classes so he heads over to the biology lab shouldering his backpack and kicking at the pebbled ground. He tips his face up to the sky before going inside, wondering if it might rain and if that might dampen everyone's romantic spirits.

When he opens the door he finds Tom hovering over his desk looking wide-eyed and guilty. He tries to hide his hand behind his back but it's too late; Chris has already seen the little card in his hand.

"You!" Chris says, sounding far more accusing than he'd intended.

Tom's shoulders sag. "Shit, Chris, I didn't...I mean, you know, it doesn't even mean anything."

"No?" Chris steps further into the room and closes the door behind him, rounding the table to approach Tom and holding his hand out for the card.

After a moment's hesitation Tom hands it over, looking away. The image is a skull above two sets of feet bones, the text beneath reading _'Head over heels'_ and Chris glances up to see the flush crawling up Tom's pale neck.

"You sure this doesn't mean anything?"

Tom huffs, rolling his head back to look at Chris and chewing on his bottom lip. He shrugs. "It was just a joke," he says, but he sounds like he's forcing the words out, like he doesn't mean them one bit, and Chris decides to trust his instincts on that.

Putting his backpack down on the desk he unzips it and pulls out the red envelope from inside. Tom's name is written on it in big black Sharpie letters and he looks stunned at the sight of it.

"Are you going to take it or shall I just tell you what it says?" Chris asks. The moment seems to hang between them, and any minute now the other students are going to start to arrive, so he presses the envelope firmly into Tom's hand and takes a breath. "It says, 'Tom, you're the best biology partner I've ever had. You make me want to do my homework and revise the text books so I don't look stupid in front of you, you make me want to buy a ticket for the shitty school play and two tickets to the shitty school dance. You make me wish that my mystery valentine was you.'"

He finishes with a shrug, because he knows it's overly soppy and probably Tom is about to laugh, but he's still glad that he said the words.

Tom clears his throat. "What does the front say?"

Chris steps into Tom's space hoping that he isn't unwelcome there. Tom tilts his face up a little, his eyes looking a little damp in the glare of the overhead light. "You'll have to open it and find out," he says, before leaning down slowly for a kiss.

He figures Tom has enough time to move away if he's not game for it, but Tom closes the rest of the distance between them until their lips meet.

It's not the best kiss Chris has ever had; it's not sexy or remotely intimate in the cold classroom, but it's a promise of more kisses, better kisses, of learning each other's mouths. He pulls back with a smile, not wanting anyone to walk in on them.

Glancing down at the small skull card in his hand he sighs. "You..." he shakes his head. "You acted like you didn't know anything about it. You pretended to be late and out of breath."

Tom's smile is wide, mischievous. "I'm taking theatre, Chris. Duh."

Instead of responding to him verbally Chris intends to swoop in for another kiss, but just as he does the classroom door opens, slamming against the wall with the force of their teacher's entry.

"Everything okay, Miss Graham?" Chris asks with a frown, hoping to distract her from the fact that he and Tom have just leapt apart.

Angrily she holds up a large A4 card which resembles one of Chris's smaller ones, with a black bone at the top of it and the words ' _let's bone, teach!_ ' emblazoned beneath. She looks livid.

"Do either of you know anything about this?"

Chris flashes his eyes over to Tom who's doing a stellar job of looking completely mystified by the whole thing.

Clearing his throat, Chris slips his hand into his pocket and shrugs. "We've both been in here the whole time."

Later on Tom holds his hand beneath the desk and traces letters into his palm; t, h, a, n, k and y.

Chris stops him with a squeeze of his fingers before he can finish, tilting his head closer to murmur, "That's what valentines are for."


	3. Cotton Tail (a.k.a The Bunny and the Bear)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing is, nobody told Chris it was a fancy-dress party. PG-ish.

He's just a temp, only been working in the office since two Wednesdays just gone but they'd pretty much invited him to the staff party on his first day (and every day after until he agreed to come) and not once did anybody utter the words 'fancy dress'.

He'd dressed in his nicest blue shirt and neat, dark slacks, polished up his shoes and pulled his hair back into a neat bun. He even trimmed his beard.

It had been when the taxi was pulling up to the venue that Chris had spotted Charlie Chaplin ascending the steps arm in arm with Batman, and his heart had dropped into his stomach.

His fears had been confirmed when he'd walked into the main hall and been visually assaulted by the array of colourful costumes.

Now he's standing in the corner with a flute of champagne clutched to his chest like a tiny, fizzy shield, just watching all the tv characters, historical figures and man-sized animals mingling happily.

The quality varies enormously; from the intricately designed Charles II costume that the regional manager has rented to the red-headed security officer who’s waving a stick and calling himself Ron Weasley.

Not that Chris can really judge him for his lack of effort. Chris doesn't even have a stick.

Having made his way over to the snack table to chew on a fistful of peanuts and people-watch some more, he spots a fluffy white bunny across the room.

The bunny is alone too, back against the wall, bopping his head slightly to the awful music in a way that makes the long bunny ears wobble back and forth. Little blonde curls stick out beneath the hood against his forehead and his otherwise-unremarkable nose is painted black.

For some reason Chris finds himself grabbing another glass of champagne and heading over.

The bunny spots him before he's close enough to say hi and so they end up oddly staring for a moment until Chris stops in front of him and holds out the glass.

"Hello," the bunny says. He takes the glass but he doesn't drink from it.

Chris attempts his most charming smile. "Nice costume. I'm Chris."

"Tom,” says the bunny. The DJ scratches the disc a few times until suddenly the song changes to the YMCA, and Tom is unable to hide his disdain. "Do you work with these idiots too or are you married to one of them?"

Chris feels the urge to declare that he's single, but that would probably be an odd injection into their small talk if it's not what Tom was getting at, so instead Chris only says, "I'm a temp."

Tom’s forehead crinkles as he frowns. "You can't have been temping with us for long. I'd remember you."

There's a bigger smile tugging at the corners of Chris' mouth but he keeps it at bay, saying casually, "Would you?"

Tom only nods. "What've you come as?" he says then, giving Chris a once-over, taking in everything from his shoes to the width of his shoulders and landing, lastly, on his thick beard. He leans in close. "Have you come as a bear?"

He seems to have amused himself but Chris doesn't really get the joke. He smiles anyway, to be polite, and Tom pats him on the arm with a fluffy glove.

"Nobody told me it was fancy dress."

Tom scoffs. "Of course. Sometimes I wonder if it would actually kill these people to be remotely helpful."

Chris grins. "Grumpy, aren't you? For a rabbit."

Tom rolls his eyes but bites his lip, and Chris suspects it's to hide a smile.

"You clearly never had a rabbit for a pet. We bunnies are the grumpiest of creatures."

Chris shrugs. He's not sure he's ever met a rabbit in real life, but he’s already glad that he met Tom. "Maybe I can cheer you up?"

Tom scoffs again, finally taking a sip of his champagne.

"Okay, Bear," he says. "You can stay. We can be wallflowers together."

-

Three hours later, buzzing pleasantly with the taste of expensive champagne still on his tongue, Chris strips Tom of his bunny costume and sees him fully for the first time.“Not disappointed, are you?” Tom says, batting his lashes as he lies back and stretches his arms above his head. He’s lean and pale with sweet, tight nipples and a dappling of chest hair, his cock is lying half-hard against his stomach as it rises and falls quickly with his excited breaths.

Chris can’t help but grin. “No, trust me, it’s a much better view without the bunny suit.”


	4. Who You Gonna Call?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers of 'HemsCorp Supernatural Service' deal with repeated calls from their client Tom, despite having no proof of actual hauntings. Explicit.

_"It's getting bad again, I need you to come as soon as possible. Please."_

The answer message comes to an abrupt end and Luke rolls his eyes, not entirely kindly, and throws his arms out at his sides when Chris frowns.

"What?" he says, a clear challenge. It's one of the only things they ever disagree on. "We're not going, Chris."

Two or three times a week they get a voicemail from Tom, his British accent clipped and panicked as he describes the horrifying entity that terrorises him from his fridge. It's exactly the kind of case they usually take - hence why they took his first call so seriously - but before long it became plainly obvious that what troubled Tom was not supernatural.

"Paranoid agoraphobia" his sister had told them the fourth time they'd been persuaded to come out. "He's too afraid to leave his flat but now he's convinced himself there's something in here with him."

Then again, she'd looked at the three of them, clad in their grey overalls and backpacks, as if she suspected them a bit mentally troubled too.

Liam likes him, mainly because Tom gives him free rein of the candy bowl and television while Chris and Luke quietly discuss the lack of supernatural activity in the refrigerator.

"How will you feel if something happens to him? We can't say for sure the fridge isn't haunted." Chris argues, not because he actually believes there's anything there but because he's maybe accidentally grown a little fond of Tom.

He's got high cheekbones and long lashes that he looks up through when he's embarrassed to see that, once again, the entity has 'disappeared' by the time they arrive.

"We can say that, Chris. His fridge isn't haunted and neither is his flat. He's a nice guy, I know you like him, but HemsCorp isn't a companion service. We can't keep going there to keep the guy company."

He's apologetic but determined, and Chris slumps in his seat with a pout and scowls over at Liam who had remained traitorously silent.

Then the phone rings again.

" _Actually_ ," Tom's voice rings out when the machine picks it up, _"If you really could be very quick? I haven't eaten since midday yesterday because the monster is guarding my eggs. I just want an omelette."_

Both Chris and Liam turn to Luke then, slow and deliberate, and it's with an annoyed sigh he pushes his chair out and stands.

" _Fine_. Gear up."

-

There's nothing there, of course, but Tom seems grateful for the company. Liam's got his head in the fridge when Tom reaches past him to pull out the eggs, whipping a pan out from under the sink with a flourish.

"How do you all like your omelette?" he asks, already cracking eggs into a bowl for whisking.

"I like cheese and tomato," Chris says, ignoring the exasperated look that Luke throws him.

Before Liam closes the fridge he grabs the tomatoes and cheese, nipping back in for spring onions once he spots them. They all end up watching as Tom cooks the eggs to perfection, and as they leave even Luke has to admit that the food was worth the journey.

"Would be nice if he ever actually paid us, though," he grumbles as they get into the HemsCorp car.

Chris laughs. "For what? We've never actually done anything besides open and close his fridge."

It's not entirely true, because once after hours Chris went back and changed the lightbulb in Tom's refrigerator door because Tom had confided in him he knew it was haunted because the light bulb flickered.

It was actually just a dodgy connection, but Chris hadn't minded, and afterwards they'd sat on the couch and talked. Aside from his paranoia and inability to leave his house, Tom seemed entirely normal and exactly Chris's type. Short of a multi-ghost disaster on the other side of town, there wasn't much that would keep Chris from answering his calls.

So, of course, when a text comes through shortly after two in the morning, dragging Chris from a nightmare involving the ghoul they'd dispatched only twelve hours before, he throws himself out of bed and gets dressed.

It only says three words - 'I need you' - and Chris throws on the old overall from the back of his wardrobe rather than rushing to HemsCorp for his gear. He takes the stairs rather than waiting for the lift up and he's at the ready, lazer already in his hands, when Tom opens the door, but he doesn't seem panicked at all.

"There you are," he says, opening the door wider for Chris to enter. Chris follows him into the living room, giving the kitchen a suspicious look as they pass, and then Tom stops in front of the sofa and turns to him.

His expression is odd, his eyes heavy with something Chris isn't used to seeing on his face, and there's a Marvin Gaye song playing softly in the background.

"Thank you for coming over," he says, stepping in close. "I have...a need."

And Chris means to say of course, he'll always come if Tom calls, but Tom leans up on to his tiptoes and and presses their lips together. It makes Chris's stomach leap in surprise, and he drops the laser to the ground with a thump.

"Oh," he mumbles as Tom pulls back and reaches for the zipper beneath Chris's chin. "That kind of need."

Biting his lip, Tom nods, and his eyes catch on Chris's bare chest the very same moment Chris remembers he hadn't put anything on underneath.

"I wish you'd told me," he says as Tom gets the zipper down past his belly button. "I wouldn't have worn the overalls."

-

He's never seen inside Tom's room before but it's exactly the kind of chaos he'd imagined, with piles and piles of clothes around the room and the wardrobe reserved as cubby holes for seven or eight laptops.

"Are those for your porn?" he jokes, but Tom shakes his head with a serious expression and pulls his own shirt over his head.

"I fix them. How do you think I make a living?"

Chris shrugs, watching intently as Tom shoves his trousers down and off.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Tom asks unexpectedly, and Chris nods. He's holding his overalls up around his waist but at an unspoken command from Tom he lets them fall.

"I knew it," Tom breathes, sliding down to his knees and taking Chris's hips in his hands. "I knew you'd be big."

And then, just as Chris is flushing proudly at the compliment to his manhood, Tom leans forward and mutters something that sounds like, _"The fridge told me."_

"Whaah?" Chris blurts out, but it all falls away as the heat of Tom's soft mouth nearly engulfs the whole length of his cock in one swallow.

He's pretty sure that Tom is legitimately crazy, but it doesn't lessen how much he likes him and it especially doesn't lessen how spectacular he is at blowjobs. It's the best Chris has ever had, by a long mile, and by the time Tom shoves him down onto the bed and climbs on top of him he's positive he would agree to any bizarre thing Tom said.

With his knees either side of Chris' hips he grabs lube and a condom from his bedside table, laying the condom down on Chris's chest.

"See?" he says, liberally pouring lube onto his fingers. "I got the XL ones because I knew."

Chris nods, holding Tom's hips as he presses his forehead to Chris's own and reaches back to prep himself. His breathing is a good indicator of how much he's enjoying himself and Chris lifts his eyes to the ceiling in silent thanks. He loves a guy who likes having his hole played with.

"Tell me when you're ready," he whispers, kissing Tom's cheek just because, and manages to open the condom between their bodies. Tom hisses and shifts back to watch him roll it on, wrist still moving behind him.

"Now, now," he nods once Chris is done, and shuffles up on his knees until he's able to line himself up.

Using his weight he sinks down, gasping as he goes, and all Chris can do is try not to thrust upwards. Unlike with the blowjob, Tom takes his time, rising up and sinking down to take another inch, tongue sneaking out between his lips as he concentrates on taking Chris's girth.

Once he's seated fully he begins to roll his hips in slow undulations, hands on Chris's abdomen for support, and when Chris thrusts up Tom digs his nails in.

"Slow now," he murmurs, parting his lips wide around a moan. "You can fuck me hard later."

The very idea that there will be a later has Chris nodding, taking Tom's hips in his hands to help guide his movements.

"I've always liked you the best" he says, licking his mouth. "Liam is sweet and Luke looks at me like I'm insane, but you...you've always looked at me like-"

He whines as Chris can't help but thrust up again.

"Like I want you," Chris nods. He's been aware of it for some time but unable to really help himself. "I know. Sorry."

But Tom shakes his head, leans forward just enough to press his fingertips to Chris' lips. It's the oddest and most intense feeling, and looking Tom in the eyes he almost blurts out something he shouldn't, something that could scare him off. He flushes just thinking about it, and Tom twists his mouth in an odd, knowing smile.

Simply to wipe the smile away, Chris sits up and pulls Tom into a kiss. It's heated but slow, matching the pace of their steady fuck, and Tom wraps his arms around Chris's neck and holds tight like he's desperate to keep him close. Chris has to lean back on one hand to get the leverage to fuck up into Tom's heat but when he does Tom whines.

"Right there," he nods, each breath shuddering out of him. And Chris does his best to keep up the pace.

Eventually he begins to waver, his arm at a funny angle and his thighs beginning to feel the dull ache, and so Tom presses him back down to the bed and sets himself at a steady rise and fall. His cock, pink and pretty, bounces as he goes, slapping up against his stomach occasionally, and Chris reaches down to palm at it. Tom, surprised, clenches his muscles and on the next of his bounces Chris tenses up and comes.

He tries to hold Tom still, grips at his hip with one hand to hold him down, but Tom is too close himself and simply takes up his rolling motion again. Chris strokes him as best he can, still riding the wave of his own orgasm, and before long Tom swats his hand away to take over.

He finishes with a pretty mewl, biting at his lips and staring down at Chris with hooded eyes. He's the most stunning thing Chris has ever seen.

He pays no mind to the come on Chris's belly as he lays down to rest chest to chest, tucking his face into Chris's neck and letting out a slow sigh. He sounds, for the first time that Chris can think of, content and without panic, and Chris lifts a hand to brush through his unruly curls.

"I still think there's something in the fridge," he murmurs sleepily, and Chris nods.

"We'll take another look."


	5. Happy Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're just friends. Honest. (Frottage, young love. Explicit.)

Chris wasn’t his _boyfriend_ or anything - he’d never be allowed to sleep over if he was that - but sometimes they did make out. It wasn’t a big deal, or really even anything they talked about, just that sometimes they’d be playing on the xbox or doing homework or something and the next thing one of them would be pressing their mouths together.

Truth is that Tom couldn’t even tell you which one of them had done it first, just that one of them had and they hadn’t stopped doing it since.

School was still normal, of course, and Chris still flirted with Candice from the girl’s netball team, but in the privacy of their rooms things were just a little different.

This weekend the Hemsworths had gone to Leeds to visit Luke in uni and even though they only lived across the road Leonie hadn’t liked the idea of Chris sleeping in the house on his own. Thankfully Tom had managed to convince his mum to let Chris stay for the three-day weekend.

There was a blow-up mattress on the floor that they had dutifully inflated earlier despite having no intention of using and the film credits had been rolling for about five minutes. Chris had been asleep for the last half hour of the film. The screen was glowing a sort of blue colour, lighting up the angles of Chris’s face in a way that made him look older, his features more defined.

Tom stared for a moment, tilting his head this way and that, before letting his eyes slip down past Chris’s jaw to his throat, his chest, his belly. His t-shirt had ridden up somehow, leaving him largely on display, and without thinking Tom reached out to smooth the material down. The drag of his fingertips caused Chris to stir, turning his head further into the pillow but unconsciously pressing his chest up into Tom’s touch.

His skin was warm and his nipples curiously pointed beneath the light material of his shirt, and Tom couldn’t helping running his finger in a loose figure-of-eight shape around one and then the other.

Chris hummed sleepily, turning his head again to blink slowly up at Tom, confused.

“Sorry,” Tom murmured, a little embarrassed at having been caught palming at his friend. “Your shirt had ridden up, I was…” he swallowed, mouth dry. “I was just pulling it down.”

Chris smacked his lips noisily a few times, still clearly dazed, and shrugged. If he’d noticed the attention Tom had been paying to his nipples he decided not to mention it. “I don’t mind,” he murmured. “I like having your hands on me.”

Tom stilled, eyes going wide with surprise in the dark. He had thought often, particularly lately, about sliding his hands from Chris’s shoulders to his chest while they kissed, about maybe climbing into his lap, but he hadn’t known how Chris might react so he’d never acted upon the urge.

“Where?” he prodded.

The DVD player flicked back to the main menu, suddenly filling the room with random pieces of dialogue from the movie rather than the pleasant music that had played over the credits. Tom reached out in a panic to find the remote and mute the sound before turning back to Chris, whose gaze flashed from the now-silent television back to him.

“Anywhere,” he breathed out, a secret in the dark. “Everywhere.”

With only a moment of hesitation Tom lowered his fingers back to Chris’s t-shirt, continuing his figure-of-eight pattern, forming the shape smaller and smaller with each pass until his fingers grazed the raised nubs of Chris’s nipples on each pass.

Chris sighed out a contented breath but otherwise didn’t react, still watching Tom with careful eyes, until Tom trailed his fingers lower. Chris’s tummy jumped at the touch, tightening up like maybe Chris was attempting to show off the shape of his newly-formed abdominal muscles, which Tom indulged momentarily with an explorative touch.

His intention though was to feel Chris’s skin, and so he slipped his hand lower to loosely circle the dip of Chris’s belly button before moving lower still to hook his fingers beneath the hem of his shirt.

Chris’s skin was warm and soft, the slightest bit clammy from sleeping in such a small bed so close to another person. Flattening his hand Tom pressed his whole palm to Chris’s tummy, twisting his wrist so that his palm covered Chris’s naval and his fingertips were pointing down, grazing the trail of dark blonde hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of Chris’s shorts.

Chris gasped a little and reached for his wrist, stilling him, and Tom glanced up to his face to find him attempting a stern look.

“Don’t,” he warned, shaking his head. “Not unless…”

His eyes were glowing with the reflection of the television, the light disappearing each time he blinked, and the words he didn’t say were perfectly clear to Tom. Perhaps the romantic thing would’ve been to lean down and kiss him, to ease the transition from friends-who-kissed to friends-who-played-with-each-other’s-junk but they had never been ones for romance, so instead Tom held his breath and slipped his hand down to palm at Chris’s semi-hard dick through the material.

Chris sucked in a breath so sudden it caught in his throat, stuttering out afterwards around something that sounded awfully like Tom’s name, but Tom only cupped his palm and began to rub, kind of like he did to himself when he was getting ready to have a wank.

Chris closed his eyes and hitched up into the touch, his mouth opening to hang loosely while Tom continued to rub, enjoying the feeling of Chris swelling and hardening beneath his touch.

They didn’t say anything, each of them only breathing out into the room and staring at one-another, and Tom felt something bloom in the centre of his chest at Chris’s intense gaze. It was affection but not only that, and whatever the other thing was had Tom scrambling to shove his hand down into Chris’s shorts and touch him for real, feel him for real. Chris breathed out his name in a rush, hitching his hips again so that the slick head of his cock nudged crudely at Tom’s wrist and left a wet swipe there.

He felt much the same as Tom did, only thicker, especially now that he was hard, and he reacted in all the same ways when Tom stroked from base to tip and played with the head.

“Yeah, yes,” Chris breathed, covering Tom’s hand with his own and squeezing his fingers harder around the warm flesh. This was where they differed; Tom preferring a much more gentle touch, but he loyally followed Chris’s guiding hand, stroking in unison with him, watching carefully as Chris’s face shifted and changed beneath the intensity of his orgasm. He shook with it, bucking up into their tangled fingers and biting at his own lips to keep himself quiet, never once taking his eyes from Tom’s save to blink.

Each of them was breathing heavily by the time Chris relaxed his hold on Tom’s hand, and Tom’s own erection was tenting his underwear with a fierceness that Tom wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before. He grasped down at himself, unable to keep from humping down against his own hand, unsure whether it would be normal to now find his own release here beside Chris or maybe sneak away into the bathroom to do it, but - as was usual - Chris seemed to read his mind.

“Wait, wait,” he whispered, knocking Tom away from him in a rush before shoving him none-too-gently onto his back. “Let me…”

He clumsily found his way on top of Tom, pressing his thigh between Tom’s legs and shoving his hand down too, using the pressure of both to give Tom the friction he needed to get off. It felt like fucking; Tom thrusting and moaning beneath Chris, held down by the weight of his body and the weight of his stare. Chris watched Tom like he was fascinated, eyes travelling almost non-stop between Tom’s wet, open mouth and his lidded eyes, clearly enjoying how the pleasure twisted his features.

Tom had to clench his teeth as he came to stop himself from crying out, and Chris returned the favour of muffling his sounds with his mouth - silencing Tom with a kiss laden with much more enthusiasm than Tom had the wherewithal to match.

Tom’s underwear was wet and sticky with cooling come and Chris, seemingly unconcerned, simply stripped Tom of them and tossed them aside before rolling him over onto his side and scooting up behind him. He threw a heavy arm across Tom’s hip and Tom went momentarily still at the distinctive feel of Chris’s soft cock at the cleft of his arse. Chris made no move to do anything other than snuggle, though, so Tom allowed himself to relax.

“What happened in the movie?” Chris whispered, nuzzling into the back of Tom’s neck.

“Oh,” Tom breathed, shrugging. “Everybody died, pretty much.”

Chris huffed out a little laugh, his breath momentarily displacing Tom’s curls. “A happy ending then,” he said, sounding sleepy but pleased, and Tom shrugged again, slipping his hands down to his belly to cover Chris’s.

“You could say that.”


	6. Going To Be Your Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris's boyfriend has been out dancing. Domestic, age difference, explicit.

“So where’s your little boyfriend tonight?”

Chris rolled his eyes even though Luke couldn’t see him, shifting to rest his feet on the coffee table - something he’d never do in front of Tom if he valued his life at all. “My _little boyfriend_ is half a foot taller than you.”

“Yeah,” Luke was clearly grinning. “About a decade younger, though.”

“Fuck you,” Chris grumped, changing the channel on the muted TV for something to do with his hands. Truth was, he’d known Luke was going to mock him when he decided to call but he was bored without Tom.

Luke laughed heartily at Chris’s unhappy tone. “So where is he?”

“Went dancing.”

A beat of silence. “Alone?”

Chris’s family always seemed a little shocked with the freedom he and Tom gave each other, something which Chris had learned to ignore over time. Liam in particular struggled with the idea, particularly because he and Tom were similar in age and whenever Liam was given an inch of freedom he took a mile. The concept of trust seemed entirely lost on him, but Chris had every faith in his boyfriend regardless of what his family thought.  
  
Instead of going over that same old conversation with Luke Chris just shrugged. “With friends.”

His brother breathed out an interested hum. “You didn’t want to go? Just to…you know, keep an eye on him?”

Chris huffed. “No I didn’t want to go dancing, and Tom doesn’t need supervision. Besides, he dances like he’s trying to swat away a swarm of bees and there’s only so much of that my love can overcome.”

He wasn’t surprised when Luke whistled a long note, singing “ _Looove_? Aww, little brother.”

Not long after that Chris got bored of the mocking and said goodnight, finding an old Bruce Willis film on the TV and watching that until his eyelids started to droop, eventually dragging himself to bed.  
  
-

The slam of the front door woke him up sometime later, followed immediately by a breathy laugh in the hallway and then Tom’s voice, a too-loud whisper, “Yes, I’m inside now! I’m safe! Hang up!”

Chris blinked rapidly to clear his hazy vision and tilted his head to the clock. Just after two, and Chris figured that Tom was on the phone with David who lived nearer to the club and always insisted on verbally seeing Tom home. It was a little bit cute, usually, but now Chris was just hoping he could get back to sleep.

“ _You_ hang up!” Tom giggled, his voice drawing nearer, and then the hallway light almost blinded Chris’ sensitive eyes as Tom knocked the bedroom wide door open. Chris lifted an arm to shield his face and Tom gasped, pleased. “Yesss, Chris is awake. Speak later, I’m gonna get fucked.”

The phone beeped loudly as Tom cut off the call and Chris groaned. “You’re really not.”

He suspected that Tom was pouting but he pulled the pillow over his face so that he couldn’t see, having always been helpless against Tom’s protruding bottom lip. In fact, it had been that bottom lip that had started their downward slope towards a relationship in the first place.

Tom had been seventeen when they met, and a horrendous flirt, always making sure to grab Chris’s attention one way or another, persistently finding any excuse to get close to him or touch him. Chris had prided himself on his ability to resist, and for the longest time he had done so successfully until one night Tom had been caught in the rain and had shown up at the bar Chris was working at, soaked through and somehow still gorgeous.

The ride home had resulted in Tom blowing him and, god, the guilt over that had eaten Chris up for months afterwards. Thankfully Tom hadn’t given up though, and by the time he was nineteen Chris had been unable to deny that he had indeed accidentally acquired a boyfriend. By twenty Tom had all-but moved in and so Chris had given in and just flat-out asked.

Living together had only solidified his love for Tom, despite their many differences, and that was why Chris put up with Tom’s late nights out and his occasional drunken behaviour. He was, after all, still in his early twenties.

He listened in silence to the sound of Tom undressing, willing down the erection threatening to tent the bed sheet. The last thing he needed was for Tom to realise he was getting hard.  
  
No, he loved Tom but he objected to being treated like a breathing dildo for his boyfriend to ride on whenever he felt like it.  
  
Regardless of Chris’s feelings on the matter, however, it wasn’t long before Tom was naked and straddling him above the thin sheet, cool hands pressed against Chris’s bare chest. He rocked his hips once, a slow undulation that felt _far too good_ , and then knocked the pillow from Chris’s face and leaned in for a kiss.  
  
Chris accepted his mouth, as he always did, even allowing Tom to momentarily lick his way inside.

Then Chris grasped at the side of his throat and pulled him back. “You taste like cheap vodka.”

Tom leaned in again, nuzzling his nose against Chris’s jaw line. “Come on, Chris, don’t you want to fuck me?”

Chris couldn’t help but laugh a little at Tom’s wheedling tone, the one he always used to get his own way.

“Come on,” Tom whined again, drawing out the vowels for longer than was necessary and rocking down once more. “I’ve had guys grinding their semis against me all night, I need-”

“Tom.” Chris stilled his hips with rough hands. “Don’t tell me shit like that.”

It was one thing to trust _Tom_ but it was entirely another to be expected to trust random strangers.

Pouting, Tom trailed his fingers up along the muscles of Chris’s forearms, tickling the soft skin on the inside of his elbow before lovingly groping at the hard curve of Chris’s bicep. “I only want you,” he whispered, grinding down again as much as he could in Chris’s hold. “It’s not my fault you won’t come dancing.”

Despite intending to stand his ground Chris could feel himself giving in, his mouth hungry for Tom’s kiss and his cock swelling heavy beneath Tom’s grinding weight. Instead of answering with words he used his hands to encourage Tom to shift his hips back and forth, the silky sheet between them somehow adding to the sensation. Chris had always felt bad about how much he liked it when Tom got a little drunk, how much more generously his affections flooded out in words, how openly he gasped for Chris to fuck him harder, deeper, faster.

He hummed against Tom’s mouth. “What do you want? You want to ride my cock?”

“Yes,” Tom gasped, palming at his own fattening dick. “Anything.”

Even in the dark Chris could see the colour on his high cheekbones, his hair slicked back with old sweat from dancing all night. It was amazing, really - Chris couldn’t take a light jog without stinking like a musty pig but Tom could dance all night and still smell appealing when he got home. Sometimes, on nights like these, Chris would prop Tom up on his hands and knees and fuck into him from behind, licking and nipping at the salty dip between his shoulder-blades.

Tonight though, he was content to lie back and let Tom wear himself out a little more.  
  
And Tom did. Firstly tilting his hips back while he fucked himself open with slick fingers, resting his chest against Chris’s and breathing heavily into his neck, gasping and wriggling, causing Chris to go from semi-hard to ready to fuck without even having to touch himself. By the time he was dragging the sheet down and out of the way Chris’s cock was a stiff shape against his own stomach, twitching as the cool material dragged against the exposed head.

“God, I love your cock,” Tom muttered as he pressed himself up to hover above Chris’s groin, reaching down with a lube-smothered hand to guide the head to his hole.

Both of them gasped as he pressed down onto it, letting gravity do most of the work as he lowered himself, hot heat surrounding Chris’s cock inch by wonderful inch. Chris could hardly believe he’d wanted to go back to sleep.  
  
With his hands he helped Tom set a rhythm, lifting and lowering whenever the friction got too much for Tom and he forgot to move, mouth hanging open, tongue lashing out across his pink bottom lip instinctively. Eager to put it to use, Chris grabbed him by the neck and again tugged him down, fastening his mouth hotly to Tom’s. The new angle allowed him to fuck up into Tom’s heat, feeling his breath hitch inside their kiss with each sharp jab of his hips.

It seemed to last forever, likely because Tom was a little drunk and Chris was doing more work than he’d intended to do, but eventually Chris had to give in to his aching thighs and slow his pace, dropping his head back and letting go of Tom’s mouth completely.

And Tom, the beautiful creature that he was, reached back to sink his fingers into Chris’s aching muscles as he began again to rock his hips, riding Chris’ like one might a horse, all swirling hips and shallow bounces, hiccupping pretty little whines as he went, fingernails marking Chris’s thighs as his grip tightened.

“I’m going to come,” Tom began to pant, nodding his head and repeating himself, his eyes shining wet in the dark and locked on Chris’s own. “Are you close?”

Chris nodded.

“Going to come inside me?” Tom gasped, lifting his hips a little higher. “Going to fill me up?”

“Yeah,” Chris gasped, slipping his hands up from Tom’s hips, up his torso, his lean abdomen and chest, pressing the pads of his fingers against Tom’s stiff nipples in passing before reaching up to press two fingers against Tom’s parted lips, pleased when he took them inside.

It was a thing. Tom’s volume had, occasionally, gotten a little out of hand at the peak of their fucking which had led to an embarrassing post-it note on the door from their neighbours. Chris had taken to pressing his fingers into Tom’s mouth for him to suck as he came, always coming away with bite marks but preferring them to irate notes from the old couple next door.

Something about Tom sucking on his fingers does it for him, too, probably because it’s a stark reminder of just how great Tom has gotten at blowjobs since that first one in the car all that time ago, and now when they’re fucking Chris comes like a rocket at the merest tug of Tom’s sucking mouth around his fingers.

They don’t come together - they rarely do, despite always aiming for it - but Tom follows less than a minute after Chris has tightened up and come inside him, back arching and fingers shoving maybe a little too deeply into Tom’s mouth. He really gets a deep bite for that, but the hurt is secondary to the blissed-out, muffled moaning Tom emits as he comes.

Chris drags him into the bathroom afterwards even though Tom is exhausted and tipsy and quite happy to just go to sleep with a hole full of come. Once they’re clean(ish) again Chris lets Tom tug him down between the sheets, grinning stupidly as Tom immediately flings a leg over one of his own and rests his head on Chris’ shoulder.

“You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had,” Tom murmurs, rubbing his cheek against Chris’s chest.  
  
Chris laughs. “I’m the only boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

There’s silence for such a long time afterwards that he thinks Tom has fallen asleep. He presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s curly head and lets out a long breath, closing his eyes. That’s when Tom opens his mouth again, sucking in a breath before saying, “And the only one I’ll ever want.”


	7. Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escort Chris (30) meets his new client Tom (18). Age difference, obviously, body worship, sex work. Explicit.

The minute he gets a chance he sends off a quick text to David.

[You're sure he's 18?]

He'd fixed his tie in the elevator up, licked his fingertips to neaten his eyebrows, ran a smoothing palm over his beard. He didn't always let his facial hair grow but the client had called up a week prior and specified that he wanted a 'really beary type, muscled and bearded'.

Chris had expected a twink but he hadn't expected this twink, all skinny and young-looking, ridiculously curly hair framing his sweet face.

[Just turned.] Comes David's reply, just as the client walks back out of the kitchen with two tumblers of scotch. [Jesus, Christopher, of course he's legal, I'm not trying to get you arrested. Now play nice, he's paying generously for your company.]

The client raises an eyebrow when he sees the phone and Chris apologises quietly and slips it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"My name is Tom," the young man says in a clipped British accent, holding out one of the tumblers. Ordinarily Chris would politely refuse a drink that hadn't been poured in front of him but, with a glance up and down the client's body, he reaches out for it. He's pretty sure he could take this one in a fight even if he was drugged.

They both tip back their drinks, Tom looking like he hasn't quite warmed to the taste yet, and then Tom heads over to the drawer by his large television and crouches down. His arse looks good and pert from that angle and Chris looks his fill, positive that he's going to enjoy whatever happens next.

"Eight hundred, wasn't it?" Tom asks over his shoulder, pulling a huge wad of cash from inside a brown envelope. Chris nods although he isn't really sure what David had agreed to.

Tom walks back over and places the money down on the table. He's not short by any meaning of the word but he still has to tilt his head to look up at Chris.

"I'm giving you eight hundred and fifty," he says, not breaking eye contact. "Because I want there to be kissing."

Chris nods, wondering whether or not he should mention that he has no real rule against kissing anyway, but Tom is already lifting his hands to press against the hard muscle of Chris's chest. He hisses, biting his lip, and then slips his hands up to knock the jacket from Chris's shoulders.

"Get naked," he says with more confidence than Chris expected from somebody his age, and Chris does as he's told. He makes a bit of a show of it without holding them up, and when he loses his shirt Tom reacts audibly.

"You're exactly what I wanted," he nods, running his fingers along his pink bottom lip.

Chris pauses at the buttons of his tailored trousers, flashing his eyes up to meet Tom's. The boy's eyes are focused on his torso, the kind of attention that makes all of his hours in the gym worth it.

He lets the corner of his mouth morph with a half-smile. "Wait until you see the rest of me."

-

Tom revels in Chris's nakedness, walking around him in slow circles with one hand trailing softly along his skin, stopping to push his fingertips into the meat of Chris's buttocks or reaching out to cup almost clinically at his heavy balls.

He seems a little overwhelmed, rocking on his heels a little while he stands before Chris to study him, and Chris wonders for a moment if the boy is a virgin. Tom's curls tickle beneath Chris's chin when he leans in to rest his forehead against the middle of his chest, warm breath fanning pleasantly against the skin. Chris inhales deeply, catching the scent of Tom's shampoo.

Tom speaks but his words are muffled and before Chris can ask him to repeat himself he's down on his knees, looking up through long lashes, face only inches away from Chris's hard cock.

They make eye contact, drawn out and intense, and Chris can't look away as Tom leans upwards with parting lips. He tongues tentatively at the head in hot, gentle sweeps that steal Chris's breath so suddenly that his chest aches and he wants to sit down.

Pink tongue prodding sweetly into the slit, Tom moans, closing his eyes as if he's enjoying the taste. Chris reaches down, unable to help himself, and takes himself in hand, stroking once to unsheath his cockhead completely. Bulbous, shiny and dark pink it looks obscene against Tom's innocent mouth.

"Wet your lips..." he whispers, forgetting himself, but Tom darts his tongue out and licks at his mouth, surprising Chris by pressing a kiss against the wet head when he’s done.

He can only suck him in half way but the back of his throat feels soft and perfect against the tip of Chris's cock and he doesn't seem to mind that Chris occasionally thrusts up and hits it. He pulls off before he can gag, spit-lines connecting his pretty mouth to Chris's cock and before he really has time to think about it he slips down to his knees too and takes Tom by the back of the head, guiding him roughly into a wet kiss.

It's all tongue, mostly on Chris's part as he tries to find every trace of his own taste inside Tom's mouth, and after a moment there are fingers pushing lightly against his chest. When he pulls back Tom sucks in a deep breath and lets go, smoothing his hand across his slick mouth and down his shirt.

"Shall we go into the bedroom?" He manages to say.

Chris shrugs. "You tell me. You're the boss here."

That earns him a fairly withering look. "Are you sure?"

After that Tom climbs to his feet and simply walks out of the living room. Chris has to leap up to follow him, seeing the back of him disappear into a room at the bottom of the hall and following with his cock, hard and spit-slick, bobbing uncomfortably with each step he takes.

The bedroom is clean and decorated mostly white, though the bed sheets are all stark black in comparison. Tom stands at the foot of the bed and seems to gesture for Chris to lie down, which he does without preamble so as not to offend further.

He's surprised when Tom climbs up to kneel over him, still fully clothed, knees either side of Chris's hips. With his hand he brushes loose hair from Chris's forehead, sliding his hand to brush downwards along his nose, across his mouth, eventually letting it slip beneath his chin.

Chris tilts his head back when encouraged, exposing his throat and unable to halt the groan that rumbles out of him when Tom begins to mouth at his Adam's apple and downwards, hotly sucking and nipping across his shoulder. He spreads Chris's arms out either side of him like a crucifix and lets his lips trace the solid curve of his bicep, planting kisses in the softness of his inner elbow.

"You're just like one of those Greek statues," he murmurs, tracing his fingers along Chris's forearm and hands, fingertips nudging at his thick knuckles. "Though you're much better endowed."

Chris snorts out a laugh, chest rising from the bed, but when he rolls his head to see Tom's face it appears that he was being entirely serious. He encourages Chris to bend his arms and then pushes them upwards until his hands disappear beneath the cool pillows. An unexpected moan escapes him when Tom bends again to sink his teeth into his tricep.

"You smell better, too," Tom whispers when he lets go licking at the mark for a moment before tilting his head and running the flat of his tongue down, down, into the hollow of his armpit. It makes Chris jump, his cock twitching away from his stomach, precum leaking to gather beneath his belly button. He trims the hairs beneath his arms for aesthetic purposes but nobody has ever put their mouth there and he's shocked at how good it feels; like it's hard-wired directly to his cock.

Tom gives him the same treatment on the other side, caressing with his fingers while he worships the muscles with his mouth, and this time he nuzzles his nose into the crook beneath Chris's arm and inhales. It would be weird, Chris is certain, if it wasn't so arousing.

The body worship goes on for almost longer than Chris can stand, his chest, stomach and hips followed by the thick muscles of his thighs, and just when Chris is about to complain Tom stops and sits up, palming at his own crotch.

"Come on," Chris whispers then, sitting up. "Let's get those clothes off you."

Tom is gorgeous. It takes a while for Chris to charm his clothes off completely, he seems mostly concerned with getting familiar with Chris's body, but once he's naked he spreads himself out on the bed with only a little self-consciousness.

He's pale all over and Chris's too-tanned hand is so big that he's able to span the distance between Tom's rosy nipples when he touches there, little finger and thumb nudging at the peaked nubs as he rubs his palm up and down.

"I want you to fuck me really hard," Tom whispers, determined gaze meeting Chris's curious one, and then he sucks his bottom lip back between his teeth like he's been doing all evening.

Chris nods. "Alright, I can do that. But let's prep you properly first so it doesn't hurt."

Tom's eyes narrow slightly and he spreads his knees, stretching his arms out above his head. "I don't mind if it hurts."

Usually Chris finds that his clients' dirty talk sounds forced or well-rehearsed but Tom sounds entirely genuine, his voice airy and honest. Chris can't help but look down at Tom's narrow wrists, his prominent collar bones, and he's glad that he got the call for this one rather than somebody who might've taken advantage.

He traces his thumb down past Tom's belly button to rub at the soft skin there. "I think I'll mind if it hurts."

With an unsubtle roll of his eyes Tom pushes his hips up into Chris' wandering touch. "You're not very well trained, are you?" He huffs, sounding petulant. "You're supposed to do whatever I tell you to."

There's a moment of hesitation, just a moment, before Chris decides. He's never had anybody question his ability to do his job before and the thought of some spoiled little eighteen year old insinuating that he's _untrained_ makes his blood run hot.

He barely has to use any strength to flip the boy over onto his stomach, planting one hand at the base of his spine and parting his thighs again impatiently with his other hand. Tom struggles for a second but then stops, his breathing picking up as Chris smoothes his hand up the inside of Tom's soft thigh and presses his thumb into the valley of his arse.

"Now look what you've done," Chris grits out, concentrating on locating the hot furl of Tom's hole. "Is this what you wanted?"

He's not sure that Tom really knows what he wants - one minute gently exploring every inch of Chris's body and the next asking to be hurt - but he does know what Tom asked for, and he's prepared to give him that.

Tom tilts his hips up and nods, turning his face away from his pillow to breathe out, "Yes, please. Fuck my arse. Make me feel it."

"Oh, trust me," Chris nods, lifting his thumb to lick it wet. "You'll feel it alright."

-

The first thrust is so good, so tight despite Chris having fingered him open as much as he could. Tom had begged and wriggled, told him how good it felt and attempted to boss Chris into fucking him before he was ready.

Tom seems to enjoy it too, the stretch and burn of being penetrated, if the way he arches his back is any indication. He lets out a hollow sound from his throat, fingers tightening in the sheets beneath him, and when Chris pulls out again Tom's head falls to hang forward between his shoulders.

"That feel good?" Chris asks even though he knows it does, and when Tom opens his mouth to answer he rocks his hips again with force, bottoming out unexpectedly and feeling the hard bones of Tom's arse against his hips. "Fuck, look at you," he says between breaths. "So greedy for it..."

"I told you." Tom whines, turning his head, breathless.

Using his thumbs Chris parts Tom's cheeks so that he can watch himself pull out again, hoping that Tom can feel the slow pull of every inch as vividly as he can. Three years of escorting and he knows for certain he's never enjoyed his job as much as this.

"God, god, god," Tom whimpers, trying to nudge back onto Chris's retreating cock. "Want it so bad, please, come on."

Chris gives it to him, deep and rough like he's begging for, enjoying each of Tom's desperate sounds, his hiccups and gasps of pleasure. He keeps him parted, occasionally pulling all the way out to see Tom's greedy hole all open and pink, twitching to be filled again.

When he leans forward to rest his palm beside Tom's head for a better angled thrust he gets his forearm bitten for his trouble, gritting his teeth as Tom bites down and lets his moans vibrate out against Chris's skin. It's going to at least bruise, if it doesn't break the skin.

He's wild - transformed from a spoiled and smart-mouthed rich boy to a trembling mess, so needy for cock that he rocks back into Chris's every thrust with eager abandon.

"Is your daddy paying for this?" Chris grits out, unable to help himself. "You using your old man's money to get yourself good and fucked?"

Tom whines, tipping his hips up further. It's all the answer Chris needs.

"Yeah you are," Chris says, leaning down to suck bruises into the skin of Tom's shoulder and neck. "Needed it so bad, didn't you, baby? Well I'm here now, I've got you. I've got what you need."

Tom nods, finally releasing his hold on Chris's arm and turning his head back as far as he can, lips parted like he's asking for a kiss. Chris lets him have one, brief and chaste, before pressing his lips to Tom's ear.

"Now," he says, nipping at the lobe. "Be a polite boy and say it."

Tom gasps as Chris angles purposefully for his prostate and hits his mark, parting his knees impossibly further until one knee is up by his ribs and Chris has to hook his wrist beneath it to accommodate him. He's whimpering now with every thrust, clearly close to coming, and Chris powers into him with all he has.

"Say what?" Tom asks, voice rattled with every thrust.

Chris smiles, leaning in again and letting Tom have a proper kiss this time, all tongue and mixed, desperate breath. "Say what polite boys say when they get what they want."

Tom whines, throwing his head back and nearly butting Chris as he tenses up and comes, spurting all over the black sheet beneath him. Chris keeps fucking into him, basking in the throb and squeeze of Tom's spasming hole around him.

Eventually Tom stills completely, sinking down to the bed and searching for his breath. Chris stops too, although it's hard, and lets the silence hang there between them.

"Say it," he murmurs, looking down at Tom's pale profile against the black sheet.

After a moment Tom wets his lips, opens one eye and breathes out, "Thank you."


	8. Highs and Lows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom can't believe he's been set up with skeazebag Chris. (Sex, drugs and fried chicken. Explicit.)

What can I say. I'm a sucker for this absolute skuzzbag:

-

Tom can’t believe that Robert set him up with this guy.

Tom had dressed up, for God’s sake, only to end up sitting across from a denim-clad slob with bad sideburns and - now, after an enormous plate of fried chicken - the unmistakable sheen of grease in his beard.

Tom takes another sip of his whiskey, just as Chris lets out a loud belch.

“You finishing that?” He gestures lazily to Tom’s plate.

In truth, Tom had found Chris’s eagerness with his own meal somewhat offputting. He pushes the plate in Chris’s direction, distracting himself with his phone while Chris tucks in.

When Chris gestures for another beer, Tom gets another drink too.

“Make that two, actually,” he says.

Chris grins, smearing grease across his lips with the back of his hand.

“Robbo said you could drink.”

Tom blinks. _Robbo?_

Chris surprises him by paying the bill. Tom would ordinarily be the type of at least object for show, if not for real, but he figures he deserves it after putting up with this date.

As they step outside into the balmy air, Chris leans back against the wall and tugs a cigarette from his pocket.

It bobs between his lips when he says, voice low, “Do you fancy some coke?”

“Sorry?” Tom leans forwards, sure he’s misheard.

Chris shrugs. “Coke. Do you want some?”

Looking around at the passing cars, at the shoddy restaurant they’ve just stepped out of, Tom sighs.

It’s been a while.

“Why the hell not?”

-

Chris fucks like a beast, growling and grunting, sniffing occasionally from the tickle of the coke they’d snorted off the spoiler of his car.

Tom’s got his eyes squeezed closed, his forehead pressed against his folded arms to stop it hitting the car with each of Chris’s rough, careless thrusts.

His cock is huge, spearing deep inside, and it’s all Tom can do not to wail, caught up in the buzz of the coke and the heat of pleasure, both clashing in his stomach to leave him feeling sick and wonderful and desperate.

He’s pretty sure Chris has another cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Gonna come?” Chris mumbles, leaning closer over Tom’s back. Roughly, he reaches around and palms at Tom’s cock.

Tom tells himself it’s the drugs that have him coming so quickly.

-

“So when can I see you again?” Chris drawls, tucking himself away.

Tom let’s out a low sigh, glancing up and down the dark road.

“I’m free on Tuesday,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for pohjanneito


	9. Leverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris is shy, Tom is sneaky, it all works out in the end. (Domestic, fluffy. Explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for pohjanneito.  
> Inspired by [this video](https://www.xtube.com/video-watch/bareback-kitchen-sex-25088891#.VNVmNS73SU5) (porn - NSFW)

They tried to film themselves once. A little GoPro, that Chris used to attach to his surfboard back home, sellotaped to the bedpost.

Chris, for all his confidence and sexual prowess, hadn’t been able to rise to the occasion. Or, rather, he hadn’t been able to remain risen.

"I’m sorry, babe," he’d said, forehead pressed between Tom’s shoulder blades. His breathing was quickened like he was aroused but there just wasn’t anything going on downstairs.

"It’s okay." Tom had shifted to pat him on the arm, the movement causing Chris’s beard to brush against his skin.

Tom loved Chris’s beard. It was well past the harshness of stubble and just beyond the wire-brush stage, leaving it soft and dense and lovely to touch. Tom loved to reach out and stroke it, loved to press himself against Chris’s back while he neatened it in the mornings. Most of all he loved when it was damp with musk and drool, when Chris leaned over him to lick deep into his mouth and share the taste of Tom’s arse. He always ate Tom out for what seemed like hours and always kissed him after, and Tom loved it.

With that in mind Tom had wiggled his arse a little that night in front of the GoPro, in the hopes that Chris might give him a seeing-to anyway, but Chris had only sighed against his skin, laying soft, apologetic kisses.

"I just keep thinking about somebody hacking your computer and putting the video on the Internet."

Tom hadn’t be able to contain his scoff, wriggling to turn onto his back and look up at his boyfriend. “You’re not Jennifer bloody Lawrence, Chris. Don’t get me wrong, nurses are definitely hot but I don’t think anyone is specifically hacking NHS staff for their sex tapes.”

Still, Chris hadn’t been able to get going in front of the camera and Tom hadn’t pushed.

It had come to him in the middle of Wednesday’s King Lear rehearsal that he should just hide the camera. It was ingenious, really, because without the camera Chris was like a stud-horse - insatiable, filthy and uninhibited. Tom had once tried to take inventory of the surfaces in the house he hadn’t been fucked on and had come up empty.

In the end Tom hid the camera in twelve different locations around the house and didn’t manage to catch any action - except for Tuesday when he’d propped it in the bookshelf and managed to capture just his own bouncing hair as Chris had fucked him over the back of the sofa rather than on it as Tom had planned.

-

By the weekend Chris is on nights and Tom is losing hope, abandoning the camera in the kitchen before crawling into bed on his own to watch old movies and eat all of Chris’s chocolate covered peanuts.

The alarm is set for nine-thirty so that he’ll still be half-asleep and warm when Chris gets home and crawls into bed, but Tom wakes just after eight and lays restlessly for a while before giving in and getting up.

He decides to make breakfast instead so that Chris can at least eat before falling into bed. Nothing too heavy, just scrambled eggs with peppers and a dash of Cajun spice.

He puts the GoPro on more as an afterthought than anything, thinking that Chris will just end up with twenty minutes worth of footage of Tom in his briefs and tshirt wiggling his arse to the radio.

He whisks the eggs to the tune of Bronski Beat’s _Smalltown Boy_ and sets the pan on the hob, not turning on the heat until he hears Chris’s key in the door.

He’d never really understood the joy of cooking until he realised how much Chris loved food, until he heard the noises that a good meal could evoke from him. He takes pride in getting sex-noises at the dinner table and has come to know Chris’s tastebuds almost as intimately as he knows his body.

When Chris appears in the doorway and moans audibly Tom assumes, naturally, that it’s the food that inspires it; he doesn’t expect to be pressed up against the counter before he even gets out a hello.

Arousal floods him, like it does whenever Chris is anywhere nearby, and only grows as delicate, wet kisses are peppered along the skin behind his ear.

Deftly, Chris reaches forward to switch the heat off.

"What’re you doing?" Tom smiles, a teasing note in his voice.

Chris’s hand is cold when it sneaks up underneath the front of Tom’s tee to flatten against his stomach, and his voice is low and loaded with arousal when he leans into Tom’s ear to murmur, “Missed you. Wanna fuck you.”

Without preamble he tugs the front of his scrubs down, and Tom has never been so appreciative of the elasticated waist. Chris’s scrubs top goes next, up over his head with ease, to reveal the wandering tattoos that journey up his forearms and solid biceps.

Tom can’t help the rough moan that escapes him as he feels Chris’s cock already half-hard against his arse. He flicks his eyes to the camera for just a second, noting that they’re right in its path. Chris clearly has no idea that it’s on, despite it being in plain sight.

His hands slide up and down Tom’s abdomen, fingers rough, like he wants to touch every inch of him and, keen to help, Tom shoves his underwear down in a rush. When he tips at the waist to shove them down his thighs Chris’s other hand slips up the small of his back to hold him in place.

Tom has to reach one hand up to steady himself on the cupboard, wondering for a moment if his face is now visible to the camera, but then spit-slick fingers shove their way between his cheeks and he promptly forgets to care.

Chris has never attempted to take him without lube before, a sure sign of his hurry, and Tom laughs as Chris grunts and attempts to rub his cock against his entrance.

"There’s lube right there," he indicates with a nod, hoping that the black bottle isn’t empty. They have a bottle in almost every room of the house but Tom can never be sure there’s enough in them to assist Chris’s fat cock comfortably inside.

Chris reaches for the bottle, giving it a little shake to check its contents before uncapping it.

"It’ll do," he breathes out, and then there are slick fingers taking a perfunctory pass across Tom’s hole.

Ordinarily Chris takes his time to make sure Tom is properly prepared but today he’s clearly too desperate, impatient to slot himself inside. He uses his other hand to force Tom to bend more and then nudges his way in.

Tom hisses, breathing out a prolonged curse at the discomfort, and Chris pulls back to dribble a more generous amount of lube along his shaft before continuing on.

When Chris is fully seated inside he pauses to just breathe against Tom’s neck.

"How’s that?" He whispers, nipping a little, and when he takes Tom’s cock in hand there’s nothing Tom can do but moan and shove forward into his fist.

"Just come on and fuck me," Tom says, pressing his fingertips hard into the fake wood of the cupboard and feeling it threaten to dent.

Chris pulls back slowly, the friction creating both a slight burn and a flash of pleasure down Tom’s spine, and then grunts as he shoves back in.

His hand comes back to fist at Tom’s cock, his other arm wrapping around Tom’s waist to steady him as he begins to fuck him with some semblance of rhythm.

It’s hardly sophisticated, and the partially cooked eggs are closer to Tom’s nose than he’d like, but Chris knows just how to fuck him - good and hard, deep like he needs it, rocking him and making him gasp out little breaths with each thrust. He fondles and strokes at Tom’s cock the whole time, and even though Tom knows he isn’t going to come from this it’s pleasurable all the same.

Chris is too needy for it to make it last, quickening his pace as his own orgasm gets closer.

Sometimes he needs it after a long shift and Tom is more than happy to let him have it.

Tom breathes out of his nose, whines in his throat when Chris presses at the small of his back and forces him to arch. He’s not entirely selfish even when the sex is all about him; he always knows just where to put Tom to get at his prostate, and before long Tom’s whines become wails that Chris batters out of him with quick, jack-hammering thrusts.

On their worst day they still have better sex than Tom has had with anyone else, and even when Chris stops attempting to do anything more than fondle his cock and crowds him so much that the kitchen counter digs into his thighs, Tom can’t help but moan at the feeling of that perfect cock fucking in and out of him.

Reaching back he grips at Chris’s upper thigh, squeezing to encourage him, and Chris bends forwards to press his chest to Tom’s back and mouths at his shoulder, almost biting.

He comes with a shuddering growl, hips twitching forwards as his come floods inside Tom in hot spurts. He does bite then, fingertips digging in too, and Tom holds his breath and tries not to wriggle beneath his weight.

They haven’t used condoms for months and, as Chris pulls out and encourages Tom to stand with gentle hands, Tom is all too aware of the familiar feeling of come tickling it’s way down his perineum.

Chris turns him and leans in for a kiss, taking his cock in hand again and taking up slow, casual strokes.

"I fucking love you," he murmurs, one hand slipping upwards to pinch and tease at Tom’s nipple through the material of his t-shirt.

For a minute lore they share gentle, intimate kisses, brushes of lips and tongues, until Tom pulls his hips away from Chris’s touch and presses their foreheads together.

"Love you too," he says, moving around him to pick up the GoPro, adding as casually as he can, "This is on."

He lifts it to see Chris’s face, confused for a second before he breaks out into a bashful grin, head tipping to the side. “You didn’t really, did you?”

When Tom laughs, Chris reaches for him and pulls him close. He tries to wrestle the camera away but can’t quite manage it, lethargic from his orgasm and his long shift.

"You’re bad," he says when he finally drops his hands to Tom’s hips, shaking his head. "What’re you gonna do with it?"

Snaking a tongue out between his teeth Tom wriggles his eyebrows.

"I’m going to use it as leverage against you," he says, finally stopping the recording. "To make you do what I want."

Chris laughs, eyes pinched almost closed with his confused expression. “Don’t I already do what you want?”

Considering, Tom tips his head this way and that. “Well you just ruined my eggs and fucked me very rudely against the countertop. Without even asking.”

"Rudely?" Chris asks, letting his hands slip down to Tom’s arse. Digging his fingers in he spreads Tom’s cheeks, smirking when Tom gasps as come trickles out of him more copiously. One finger slips across to rub at his wet hole, catching the come and pushing it back inside. "I’ll show you rude."

Dipping, he throws Tom over his shoulder and slaps him solidly on the arse, carrying him through into the bedroom.

"You going to eat me out?" Tom asks, cheek pressed against Chris’s warm back.

Nudging the bedroom door open with his foot Chris takes two steps inside and throws Tom down on the bed.

"That what you want?" He asks as Tom tries to steady himself on the bouncing mattress.

"Yes."

Chris sighs, overacting as if that’s the very last thing he wants to do. “Well,” he says, one knee up on the bed, “I suppose since you’ve got _leverage_ against me…”


	10. Eager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Businessman!Chris (30) and barboy!Tom (17)  
> Age difference. Explicit. Underage too, if seventeen isn’t the legal age where you are.

"So eager," Chris chided, clucking his tongue.

Tom paused, fingers on the buttons of his shirt, blinking in confusion.

Last time had been fast, unplanned and untidy, a rough and dirty fuck that got the job done and had left them both panting for breath but smiling.

He hadn’t seen Chris since, until today, but he had thought of him often; had fucked into his own fist in his bed with the vivid memory in his mind and Chris’s name on his lips.

Chris had his number but he hadn’t called and Tom had thought, with an achingly intense disappointment, that now he had given himself over completely he had lost Chris’s interest.

When he’d spotted Chris tonight though, across the musty old pub watching Tom work behind the bar, it had been evident that he was the very focus of the man’s interest. Chris had looked so out of place in his shiny dress pants and jacket, even with just the simple t-shirt beneath, but his blue eyes had followed Tom’s every move in a way that made Tom shiver from the base of his spine to the very tips of his fingers.

He had approached slowly, picking up empty glasses along the way, before pausing before the table Chris was sitting alone at.

"Hi," he’d said, shuffling from foot to foot.

Chris had smiled, dimpling pleasantly and squinting his eyes, tapping his fingertips against the tabletop. “I’ll have a beer.”

Tom had let out a nervous breath, almost dropping the tower of glasses in his arms as he did. “I can’t serve you beer, I’m not eighteen yet. I just collect the empties and refill the fridges.”

Chris nodded and didn’t say much else, instead leaning to his left so that the table wasn’t in the way as he let his eyes travel the length of Tom’s body.

"Sorry I haven’t called," he said, not offering an excuse. "How’ve you been?"

"Good," Tom rushed to say. "I’ve been good."

That seemed to please Chris, who proceeded to forget about his beer in favour of asking Tom when his shift was over, did he have plans afterward, would he like a ride home?

Tom had agreed, of course, and Chris had slunk off for the next few hours to god-knows where while Tom finished work, and had been in the car park, as promised, when Tom had emerged into the darkening evening.

He hadn’t driven Tom home though, flicking his left indicator on and heading instead for his own place with just a brief glance in Tom’s direction for confirmation.

He’d kept his distance, too, on the elevator up to his apartment, standing in the corner with his arms spread and his gaze unsubtly taking Tom in again, as if something might have changed in the time since he last looked. Tom tried not to flush under the attention but it was a losing battle, and he could see in the mirrored walls that he looked something like an untidy tomato under the harsh white glare of the ceiling lights.

It wasn’t the penthouse suite but it was just three floors from the top and belonged in its entirety to Chris, who had to nudge Tom out of the way and swipe a fob-key across the sensor before the doors would open. The place was airy and too-white, exactly as it had been last time Tom had been over, and reminded Tom more of a hotel room from a movie than anywhere somebody would want to live. Chris didn’t seem to mind, though.

"Do you want a drink?" he led the way inside, heading right for the kitchen. Tom shook his head and moved to stand by the full-length window that wrapped around the long living room, marvelling at the view of the city beneath; glowing car lights and dark, shadowy buildings far below them. The wind was blowing hard, whistling in a low pitch along the outside of the building and persuading it into a gentle, almost imperceptible rocking motion. Tom imagined that living up so high would give him a headache or an upset stomach, perhaps both, but he was okay to stay for a while. For the night again, maybe.

Chris’s reflection came into view behind him, one hand holding a tall glass of golden liquid and the other deftly unbuttoning the shiny suit jacket. He pressed himself up against Tom’s back, casually dipping his chin to nose at the column of Tom’s throat, and it took everything Tom had not to sigh happily.

When they had first fucked, weeks ago, Chris had remained above him for some time afterwards just nuzzling and breathing him in, stroking with gentle hands across all the places he had touched with less care before, and Tom had laid still and pliant, had grown hard again beneath the attention until Chris had scoffed at him and taken him in hand, licking into his mouth while he pumped his fist until Tom had come again, before sinking heavily into a much-needed sleep.

It was all he had wanted, sex-aside, to have Chris’s breath against his skin again, his careful touch.

"Would you let me fuck you against this glass?" Chris murmured curiously, flicking his eyes up to meet Tom’s reflection. "For everybody down there to see?"

Tom sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes closed, defenceless against the potency of Chris’s eye contact. It had been this way when they had first met, when Chris had come storming into the pub out of the rain and demanded to use their phone, complaining loudly to whoever he had called that ‘ _that fucking monster of a car you sold me has broken down_ ** _again_** _, you fucker.’_

Tom had hovered nearby, beer glasses squeaking in his palm as he dried them and laid them out for use again, and a couple of times Chris had lifted his eyes and levelled him with a look he was sure he’d never been given before. It had made Tom feel hot and cold all at once, only intensifying when Chris had hung up the phone and introduced himself.

He wasn’t the usual clientele that The Cock and Bottle Pub attracted, but sure enough he had been back the following night, and the one after, too, always hanging by the bar to press Tom for information about himself, always holding that eye contact.

It had taken Chris less than a week to have Tom pressed up against the passenger side of his car and agreeing to accompany him home. It had been another week before they had technically fucked but in the time between Chris had introduced Tom to a vast number of exciting and lewd things. Tom wouldn’t be shocked if Chris really did want to make a show of fucking him in front of the window, and he wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

Chris hummed. “I bet you would, wouldn’t you? You’d let me show everybody what a great fuck you are, how much you want it.”

Tom suspected that he was right.

Chris slid a hand up Tom’s side, not making any move to untuck Tom’s black shirt from the tidy jeans he wore for work, and let his fingers rest beneath Tom’s fairly prominent ribs.

"Luckily for you I don’t feel like sharing. Not tonight."

They had remained there for some time, Chris nuzzling at his throat and squeezing at his ribs, slipping his fingers around Tom’s waist to pull him close and rock against him, laying open-mouthed kisses behind his ear, tugging with his teeth at the soft hair at Tom’s neck until he hissed.

He had headed into the bedroom not long after, taking his first sip of the liquid in his glass and seeming to swish it around in his mouth before swallowing. Tom was a foot or so behind him and closed the door behind himself, turning back to see Chris slipping down onto the floor to rest with his back against the bed. His eyes were lidded, heavy with arousal and a slightly smug pleasure.

"Will you strip for me?"

Tom let out a long breath, feeling his shoulders rise and tighten up with nerves, but he nodded, finding himself always all-too-willing to do whatever Chris asked. He was conscious of his body; his skinny arms and legs too long for his frame, his flat stomach and discernible ribs, but Chris had seemed to like it last time, had spent long minutes mapping out Tom’s body with his hands.

He lifted shaking hands to the collar of his work shirt, scrabbling for the top button and tilting his mouth down unhappily when his fingers tripped a few times before finally releasing it. He moved swiftly onto the next one, doing the same.

"So eager," Chris chided, clucking his tongue.

Tom paused, fingers on the buttons of his shirt, blinking in confusion.

Still watching from beside the bed, Chris waved a hand. “Go a little slower. I want to see you.”

Doing as he was told, Tom slowed his pace, attempting to hold Chris’s gaze while he undid each button slower than before, tugging the bunched material out from the waistband of his jeans with a hesitance that Chris seemed to approve of, nodding gently for him to continue. He didn’t touch himself, Chris, but the material of his dress pants was such that the light played obviously against his hardness beneath, throwing a dark shadow along his thick length as it began to tent the material.

Tom’s jeans came next, the zipper buzzing lightly as Tom lowered it, the button popping. Chris licked his lips, sucking the plump bottom one into his mouth, and Tom slipped the denim down over his hips and off. It wasn’t overly warm in the apartment and he felt the tingling tug of his nipples stiffening, unable to resist the urge to lift his palms and rub at the hard nubs.

Chris smiled. “Plenty of time to play with yourself later, Tom, you’re supposed to be getting naked.”

It seemed unfair for Chris to remain fully clothed while Tom lost every piece of clothing but he knew better than to complain; knew that Chris liked to keep a slight upper-hand. Tom’s erection sprung out of his underwear as he tugged them down and off his hips. He looked down at himself, at the obscenely pink head of his cock against the canvas of his pale belly and thighs, and then looked up through his lashes for Chris’ reaction.

Chris tipped his head back to drain the glass, inviting Tom to watch the movement of his throat as he swallowed the last of the drink, and then he reached up to deposit the glass on the bedside table with an empty clink.

Tom remained in place, waiting for further instruction and trying not to palm at himself.

"Good boy," Chris nodded, curling his fingers in invitation. He’d never said that before, _good boy_ , but Tom found that he liked it, and he went willingly when Chris uncrossed his ankles and patted his thighs. It excited Tom, to step over Chris with one foot either side of him and fold himself slowly down. Chris grunted happily, raising his hands to brush over the outside of Tom’s thighs, hips and waist as Tom lowered himself until he was straddling Chris’ thighs. Chris tugged Tom close but then immediately pulled at his hips, encouraging him back up onto his knees and letting out a ‘tsk’ when Tom tried to sink back down onto his lap. It was only when he heard the click of a bottle cap and felt probing, wet fingers at his entrance that Tom realised Chris’s intention.

"Be good and kneel up for me while I get you ready for my cock," Chris whispered, tilting his head until Tom was looking right at him. "And keep your eyes open, okay?"

Tom nodded, gripping Chris’s shoulders and locking his knees, hoping they wouldn’t fail him as Chris slipped two impatient fingers in up to the first knuckle. Tom hissed at the immediate stretch, pressing his hips forward and away from the pressure only to hiss again as his cock brushed the material of Chris’s shirt.

"I love the sounds you make." Chris petted at his hip with one hand while he fucked deeper into Tom with the other, his two fingers spearing and twisting up into Tom until they were more easily accepted, until Tom’s hole stopped clinging to them so desperately and invited another. Before long Chris was fucking him enthusiastically with three thick fingers and Tom was humping against his chest, leaving wet streaks of precum along his grey shirt. It occurred to Tom that maybe it was expensive, but then Chris crooked his fingers just right to brush against his prostate and all thoughts of anything other than coming were lost.

Chris paused, huffing hotly against Tom’s chest, before pulling his fingers free unceremoniously and leaning back to tear off his own jacket. He tossed it carelessly across the room, laughing gently as Tom moaned at the empty feeling he’d been left with. Chris only undid his trousers, didn’t even bother to pull them down to avoid ruining them, only pulled his hard cock out of the open v of his fly.

Tom watched, almost hyperventilating, as Chris expertly rolled the condom on and then slathered himself with a generous amount of lube.

"Ready for my cock?" He didn’t wait for Tom to answer before lining himself up. "Sink down onto it, baby," he whispered, catching Tom’s mouth in a loose, fast kiss.

Tom did as requested, relaxing his legs so that gravity would assist him as he lowered himself onto the thick intrusion. It hurt, Chris not having prepared him enough, but it was a good pain, a burn that Tom invited as long as it meant he’d get to feel this for days. Large hands slipped from his hips to his arse, digging into the muscle and spreading his buttocks, greedy fingers pressing close to his hole.

"You’re so good, taking my fat dick," Chris murmured, panting between words and letting his head fall back against the bed. His fingers gripped harder at Tom’s hips and encouraged him to rise up higher and come down with more force, guiding Tom’s movements, muscled arms straining against the sleeves of his grey t-shirt. "I want you all the time, just like this. In my house and," he huffed again. "And on my cock."

Maybe it was only ramblings brought on by the heat of the moment but Tom savoured each word anyway, already changing his mind about the high-rise apartment, finding it all too easy to imagine waking up there every day beside Chris, dutifully getting him off before work and then again after, showering together and cooking for Chris, taking care of him.

"Yes," he nodded, "anything," and let Chris drive them into a faster rhythm, fingers bruising, that reminded him insanely of cantering on a horse in his early teens.

His thighs were beginning to ache, his hips starting to feel the strain of the repetitive motion, until Tom felt overly aware of his hairline dampening with sweat and his knees threatening to give out. “Chris,” he whined, clinging harder to his shoulders, “it’s too- I can’t- _please_ , I need-“

As if he knew what Tom was trying to say Chris tipped him backwards to lie on the floor, heedless of Tom’s grunt as his cock slipped free of Tom’s clenching hole, uncaring that the rich, red-toned wood was cold beneath Tom’s bare back. He kneeled above him, leaning over to lick at Tom’s mouth before pulling away and _winking_ ludicrously before hooking Tom’s knees over his elbows and lining his cock up again.

“Say you want it,” he murmured, lips parted and breathing hotly down across Tom’s face.

“I want it,” Tom nodded, reaching to press his fingers against Chris’s clothed stomach. “I do.”

Chris smiled, patiently. “What do you want, baby? Hm? Say it.”

Tom liked the endearment, felt his neck tingle hotly with it, and he tipped his hips up like a slut and moaned, “Want to be fucked. Need it. Please.”

Chris didn’t keep him waiting, having heard what he wanted to, pressing right back inside Tom’s hole with a long, forceful thrust, so deep that Tom felt for a moment like he could feel it all the way up to his throat and was liable to choke. Chris didn’t give him any time to adjust, pulling almost all the way back out before driving back in, hard and _good_ and causing Tom’s breath to hitch with each thrust.

Tom’s feet bounced with each hard thrust, his fingers scrambling and scrunching at the material of Chris’s t-shirt and tugging on it like reins while Chris powered into him. It felt so good, so rough and deep and exactly what Tom wanted, and Chris too was moaning and babbling nonsensically about Tom’s greedy little hole and his cock hungry arse. The truth in the words made Tom shiver and whine in shame and pleasure, made his toes curl and his spine arch.

"Touch yourself," Chris encouraged, pressing himself closer over Tom’s body until his knees brushed his chest with each thrust. "I want you to come while I’m inside you."

Last time Chris had made Tom come already by the time they got to fucking and so Tom hadn’t come again with Chris inside him, he’d been hard and leaking and it had felt _so good_ but he just hadn’t reached the edge before Chris was already coming, hips stuttering against the back of Tom’s thighs as he emptied himself into the condom. Afterwards, apologetically, Chris had fingered Tom with rough fingers and fisted his cock until he came. This time, though, it seemed he was determined.

Tom’s cock was so slick from the precum drooling liberally from his slit that his fist slipped and slid along his length with ease, perfectly countering the delicious thrust and tug of Chris moving inside him. It didn’t take long for Tom to let go ropey strings of come across his stomach and chest.

Afterwards he lay in a state of bliss, rocked rudely by the force of Chris’s continued thrusts while he chased his own orgasm, hunching lower and lower over Tom’s body until he could put all of his energy into the movement of his hips. He opened his mouth against Tom’s and breathed desperately into his mouth.

"Next time," he growled, jaw clenched and teeth bared, "next time I’m going to come in your greedy hole. Fill you up. You want that?"

Tom nodded, whispered _yes, yes, yes_ , and _please_ , slipping his hands into Chris’s hair, and then Chris’s entire body tensed up as he came.

It took them too long afterwards to get up from their sprawl on the floor, and by the time Chris kicked off his shoes and dress pants, crawling into the bed and lifting the blanket for him to follow Tom was shivering from the cold. They lay in the dark, side by side, Tom listening to the window howl outside and waiting for Chris to speak. In the end he didn’t say anything, instead rolling onto his side and pulling Tom close, nosing along his cheek for a moment before encouraging him onto his side and crowding in close behind him.

"When are you eighteen?" he eventually asked, like an afterthought.

Tom hummed. “Does it matter?”

"I suppose not," was Chris’s response as he curled his palm around Tom’s bony hip, and if he said anything after that Tom missed it, already drifting into the warm-water weightlessness of sleep.


End file.
